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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677460">you're the one I love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthestarsabove/pseuds/andthestarsabove'>andthestarsabove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But they do talk about it, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Quarantine, Texting, me? projecting onto baz? never, not exactly a love confession bc they're already together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:21:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthestarsabove/pseuds/andthestarsabove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>just them being soft while quarantined!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you're the one I love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this in March or April, so that's about when it's set. Whenever all of this started, I guess! Thanks for reading! Also, Baz is bold, Simon is italics</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>BAZ</p>
<p>This is getting ridiculous.<br/>
I've nothing left to do for uni. I read every book in this wretched apartment a week ago, I haven't seen Snow in three weeks, and every time Fiona so much as breathes I get one step closer to killing her. Only metaphorically, of course (though I suppose it's good we've got blood in the freezer.)<br/>
I'd text Simon, but he's in class for the next hour. He went back to school earlier this year, and I don't want to interrupt.<br/>
Only one more week, I tell myself.<br/>
One week might as well be an eternity.<br/>
Fiona and I took a trip to France- a belated birthday present. We returned a week ago, and immediately had to go into a self-imposed quarantine at her apartment. I live with Simon now- moved in at the beginning of the year- but I'm deathly afraid of getting him sick, so I'll be staying here for another seven days.<br/>
All in all, I'm terribly bored. I've started a paper for my Master's program (it's not due for another month,) and I manage to pass half an hour on that before I break and send a message to Snow.</p>
<p><strong>Snow</strong><br/>
And then, <strong>Simon</strong>, because I want him to know that I'm trying.<br/>
I hope he knows already.<br/>
It's been over two years since America, and we're better. He talks to his therapist once a month. I did a few sessions as well, when he first started again. We talk now, about important things. We live together, for Crowley's sake.<br/>
I know he knows I'm trying.<br/>
Sometimes I get in my head too much, though. I put my phone down, and do my best to ignore the voice in my head telling me I've just messed up.<br/>
A few moments pass, and then-</p>
<p><em>i'm in class</em><br/>
<strong>I know</strong><br/>
<em>you're distracting me</em><br/>
<strong>Then don't respond, if it's such a problem</strong><br/>
<strong>There's a simple solution</strong><br/>
<em>fuck you</em><br/>
<strong>I wish</strong><br/>
<em>aww are you horny</em><br/>
<strong>Fuck off, Snow</strong></p>
<p>I don't say it because it's not true, but because I don't want him getting all worked up while he's in class. And because I don't like talking about this -sex- over text. There's too much room for misinterpretation. Also, I'm secretly worried I'd make a fool of myself. </p>
<p><strong>How's class?</strong><br/>
<em>all right</em><br/>
<em>there's so much fucking work tho</em><br/>
<strong>I'd kill for work right now</strong><br/>
<strong>Fiona's driving me mad</strong><br/>
<em>take mine then</em><br/>
<em>i don't want it</em><br/>
<strong>What are you working on?</strong><br/>
<em>psych</em><br/>
<em>structure of the brain</em><br/>
<strong>Amygdala</strong><br/>
<strong>Hypothalamus</strong><br/>
<em>are you just trying to sound smart</em><br/>
<strong>Perhaps</strong><br/>
<em>well it didnt help</em><br/>
<strong>My apologies</strong><br/>
<em>howve you been?</em></p>
<p>He asks like we haven't talked every day for the past two weeks. </p>
<p><strong>All right. Bored, though, and I love Fiona but we're getting tired of each other</strong><br/>
<strong>I miss you</strong><br/>
<em>i miss you too</em><br/>
<em>just one more week</em><br/>
<em>and then youll have to go back to putting up with me</em><br/>
<strong>Unfortunate it's only one week</strong><br/>
<em>yea if i never had to see you again thatd be better</em></p>
<p>I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. Joking with him like this is one of my favorite things.<br/>
He's one of my favorite people. </p>
<p><strong>Well, I could always just move back in with my aunt</strong><br/>
<em>i thought she was driving you mad</em><br/>
<strong>Not as mad as you drive me</strong><br/>
<em>mad with desire</em><br/>
<strong>Shut up</strong></p>
<p>Again, he's not wrong.<br/>
I miss him, desperately. I miss falling asleep and waking up with him, I miss being able to touch him. I realize I'm looking at the screen of my phone with a ridiculous amount of tenderness. This week needs to be over immediately. 
My phone buzzes, and I look down. </p>
<p><em>just got out of class. have to go- have work to do, but call after dinner??</em><br/>
<strong>That sounds wonderful</strong><br/>
<em>great</em><br/>
<em>talk to you later</em><br/>
<em>i love you</em><br/>
<strong>I love you too</strong></p>
<p>The rest of his class had passed without my noticing, and now I'm no better off than I was before. Well, I'm a bit better off. He makes me feel better.</p>
<p>SIMON</p>
<p>I stare at my laptop screen.<br/>
The cursor keeps blinking, on and off, and I swear it's taunting me. I press some random letters just to make it stop. This shouldn't be this fucking hard.<br/>
I'm trying to write a letter to Baz. My therapist said it would be an easier way to say everything I want to, without the words getting all caught in my throat. I would have time to think about everything I wanted to write. But now the words aren't even making it to my throat, they're getting stuck in my brain.<br/>
Maybe I should start with something simple?<br/>
I miss you, I type, then quickly delete it. He'll be back by the time he reads this. I want this to make sense.<br/>
I could start with <em>I love you</em>, but that's a well boring way to start a letter, and besides he already knows that. This is supposed to be about the things he doesn't know. About how I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It's not a proposal. Not yet. But we've been together for four years and I think it would be nice for him to know all the things I've been thinking.<br/>
So far it's not been easy.<br/>
I keep looking at the blank page. A part of me wishes he were here right now, so I could just tell him. But I know that wouldn't go well. I'd get all caught on my words, trip up and say something stupid. But at least it'd be over with.<br/>
I sigh and scrub my hands down my face. Telling my boyfriend how much I love him shouldn't be on the same level as a chore. And it's not. Really, it's not. It's just hard.<br/>
My phone's across the room on our bed. I could text Penny, but she wouldn't help. And I can't text Baz. He thinks I'm doing work from uni. I probably should be, but I want to have this goddamn letter finished before he comes home next week.<br/>
I've planned it out.<br/>
He'll come home, and I'll kiss him and then give him the letter. I've not actually thought it out beyond that, but I figure it won't be a problem since he'll probably love it. He'll put the paper down and then kiss me again, and I don't know, we'll have sex or something.<br/>
If I ever get it finished.<br/>
Fuck, I miss him.<br/>
I miss you, I write again. I can start here and take it out later.<br/>
Maybe I should make a list. I grab a pen and paper, then uncap the pen and draw a few spirals in the corner to make sure it works.<br/>
It does.<br/>
Fuck.<br/>
I stand and stretch, popping my shoulders and wings. Then I wander to the kitchen for some food. It's practically time to eat anyway.<br/>
Maybe if I take a break I'll finally be able to write something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>BAZ<br/>
Since I'm done talking to Simon and there's nothing else worth doing, I walk into the main room of Fiona's apartment. She's on the sofa, watching television. The show looks stupid, but I sit next to her anyway.<br/>
"What's this?" I ask.<br/>
She just shrugs.<br/>
I check my watch. "It's nearly six," I say. "What are we eating?"<br/>
"Leftovers," she says.<br/>
I don't bother hiding my grimace. Fiona can do many things, but she cannot cook. She must see, out of the corner of her eye, because she swats my leg and snaps something about beggars not being choosers, and that I should get into the kitchen right now and heat two plates up.<br/>
I do as she says. Only because I don't want to argue right now. I just want to eat, then call Simon.<br/>
I fill two plates and put them in the microwave, then heat up some blood for myself and drink it while I watch the numbers drop to zero.<br/>
Fiona and I eat, TV in the background. I sit on the far end of the couch and attempt to ignore the sound of her chewing. Enhanced vampire hearing is more nuisance than help at a time like this.<br/>
Sitting here eating together, living in this apartment, makes me remember when life was always like this. Before Simon and I moved in together. It's with a strange mix of nostalgia and relief that I look back on it, because things were much worse than they are now, in almost every way, but in other ways I miss being 19.<br/>
Missing it doesn't last for long, though.<br/>
I finish my last few bites, then take my dishes to the sink and walk back to what used to be my room. What is once again my room, at least for now.<br/>
<strong>I'm done eating</strong>, I text Simon.<br/>
<em>same</em>, he replies. <em>you good to call now?</em><br/>
<strong>Yeah</strong>, I tell him.<br/>
I sit on my bed, leaning against the headrest. Fiona's old laptop (mine's still at our flat) is on the bedside table, and I pull it into my lap. It's slower than mine, but thank Crowley she hasn't thrown it out yet, or I'd have no way to talk to Simon like this. Well, maybe she would let me use her new one, but not without throwing a fit first.<br/>
Simon calls a moment later, and when I see his blurry, tired face appear on my screen it's the happiest I've been all day. I can see myself in the bottom corner- dim lighting, hair pulled back, bags under my eyes. He's seen me through worse, though, so it hardly matters.<br/>
"Hello," I say. My voice is soft. I'd almost hate it, if it didn't feel so good.<br/>
It's been strange, learning to like the person I've become. For so long I thought the only right way to be was a shadow of my father. Cool. Collected. Never wrong. A little too uptight. Sometimes that is who I am, but not always.<br/>
I'm trying to learn to love it.<br/>
And I do, I think. Therapy helps.<br/>
It's okay when I laugh too loud. I like that I love my friends, the bit of extra softness I've gained around my stomach. I like that I can look like shit and sound like a sop and Simon will still be right there.<br/>
"Hi," he laughs.<br/>
We let a few moments pass, just looking at each other.<br/>
Then-<br/>
"I'm writing you a letter," he says.<br/>
"What?"<br/>
His face is bright red, and he's covered it with his hands. "Fuck. I wasn't supposed to tell you."<br/>
"You're writing a letter?" I ask. "What for?"<br/>
Simon shakes his head. He's embarrassed. I love him. He mumbles something I don't catch.<br/>
"It was meant to be a surprise," he says, when I ask him to repeat himself. "I wanted it to be done before you got home."<br/>
I'm still confused. "Why a letter?"<br/>
He's silent for a moment, keeping his eyes somewhere above his camera.<br/>
"I thought it would be easier," he says, finally.<br/>
I keep my face still, though now I'm getting nervous.<br/>
<em>Nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong.</em><br/>
"Is something wrong?"<br/>
"Hm? Oh, no," Simon shakes his head. "No." He looks back at his screen now. Back at me. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."<br/>
"You didn't scare me," I say.<br/>
He rolls his eyes.<br/>
It's so good to see him. I'd sit here all evening and just look at him, even with the poor video quality.<br/>
"I wanted it to be a nice letter," he says. "But it might not be done."<br/>
"That's all right," I say.<br/>
We're silent for a moment.<br/>
"I love you," he says, now. "That's all it was really going to say."<br/>
"You didn't need to write a letter for that," I tell him. I already know.<br/>
He huffs a bit.<br/>
"Yeah, well. I wanted to. And- and it wasn't just that." He looks off at something I can't see. "I. Well."<br/>
I breathe, and I wait.<br/>
"Baz," he says, turning back to the camera.<br/>
"Yes?"<br/>
"I've been thinking," he says. "While you've been gone. And I- Well, I bloody miss you, yeah? And I don't- I mean, I know we already live together but I don't want to not see you for this long. Again. I don't know. I just wanted to tell you how much I love being with you." He rubs the back of his neck, drags his hand up and over the top of his head, tugs on his hair. "This isn't- it's not a proposal yet or anything, I know we're still probably too young to be talking about that, but I- I want us to someday. I just- I'm just trying to say that this is it. You're it for me." Simon drops his eyes. "That's all."<br/>
I think I'm going to cry.<br/>
"Simon-" I start, and I'm sure I must have known what I was going to say but I can't for the life of me remember it now.<br/>
He's it for me too, of course. He's been it for me since I was 18 years old.<br/>
"Simon," I say again.<br/>
He blinks, hard. I do the same, though it's too late.<br/>
"You're it for me, too," I say. "There could never be anyone else."<br/>
He laughs and smiles and there are tears in his eyes. He's beautiful.<br/>
"I wish you were here," he says.<br/>
"Soon," I say.<br/>
It's all I can manage.<br/>
His eyes have gone soft around the corners.<br/>
"I love you," he says.<br/>
I've never wanted anything more than to be with him right now.<br/>
"I love you, too," I say.<br/>
And as I'm sitting there, leaning back in my bed looking at his face, I see our lives laid out before me. Not like the verge of death, but like settling certainty. Like coming home.<br/>
I'll marry him, one day. We'll move somewhere bigger than our London apartment. We'll get older. Together.<br/>
We'll have everything we never thought we could.<br/>
"I wish I could be with you," I tell him.<br/>
"I know, darling," he says. "Me too."<br/>
He smiles, and it makes my chest ache.<br/>
"Tell me about your lectures today," I say. Because I want to know, and because I want to hear his voice.<br/>
As he begins recounting everything he learned in psychology, I settle back against the pillow, laptop resting on my thighs. I could sit here and listen to him for hours. Maybe I will.<br/>
One more week.<br/>
We can make it. So much worse has happened to us than a week apart.<br/>
Simon's still complaining about his professor; I'm still watching him.<br/>
It's going to be okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm unconfirmed-vampire on Tumblr! I don't know how to add links but come say hi if you want :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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